Set Fire To The Rain
by MyLittleStorys
Summary: Annie suceeded in finding the person responsible for the Box Tunnel 20. She just didn't expect to find that person was Mitchell. No longer a one-off. Several swears! Set S3E7 .
1. Chapter 1

**Firstly, I am going to apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes etc, this is me we're talking about lol!**

** I'm also going to pretend Mitchell did not burn the newspaper clippings. The tool that he is should have done that in the first place! Bring on Sunday! **

**

* * *

**It's funny, how your whole world can crumble with a snap of a finger. That the face belonging to the one you care for so deeply dissolves and morphs into a stranger.

We don't always want to know the truth. It can be revealing and cruel, throwing us out of comforts and safety. But it makes us human, it makes us honest. It leaves only that person, a bare soul with nothing left to hide.

In the end it was her own determination to find the culprit behind the Box Tunnel massacre, her mission, which revealed the truth. She just didn't expect to find the monster living under their roof, sharing their laughs and smiles, making her feel complete.

When the accusations initially emerged – claiming Mitchell was responsible for the Box Tunnel 20 -, she delved a little deeper, if not to reinforce her trust in Mitchell, but to prove his innocence. The more she witnessed – the crime scene photographs, the pure inhuman carnage – the more Annie knew she had to find the person, or persons, responsible. Twenty one lives extinguished without a second thought. Looking at their pictures, what they used to look like, happy and smiling, brimming with life; it felt like a kick in the teeth. It made her stomach twist.

She shared Nancy's determination too, to solve the crime, saw that spark in her eyes and ignored Mitchell's protests to leave the case well alone. Soon both Nina and Annie became fixated, obvious now for different reasons. Nina was reluctantly helpful and Annie did not think twice about her hidden agenda - to search for valid proof against Mitchell. Annie now understood why. Nina knew all to well that the killer was within arms reach. And yet Nina told know one.

However, when Nancy matched the fingerprints from the train to Mitchell's, Annie - despite being shocked to her core - was adamant there was some mistake, or, at a stretch, a set-up. God, she had revolted at the idea. Of course, she wasn't naïve; Mitchell was a cold-blooded murderer, his past was shocking at the best of times, but he had changed hadn't he? Shaken, she remained firm in her belief – no way was Mitchell responsible for this.

The final confirmation of Mitchell's involvement was provided by Nina, while the boys worked an early shift: a collection of newspaper clippings, pages and pages of theories and pictures. It could be a tribute or a reminder, she didn't care either way. She couldn't kid herself anymore. Everything began to make sense; why Mitchell remained increasingly distant, why he tried to distract her from the case. She even felt guilty for thinking such thoughts, for not confronting him personally and asking for the truth.

Quietly, forcefully she had asked Nina to leave her room, needing silence to process these revelations. That's when it started, dormant powers resurfacing, tightly linked to her fragile emotional state. She felt betrayed and stupid, for she had forgiven him hadn't she? Sealed her forgiveness with a kiss. She began to wonder why Mitchell had rescued her from purgatory in the first place; to save her or himself. Every little doubt about Mitchell brought on a wave of strength to her being, the effects outputted onto the furnishings of her bedroom, cracks developing on the walls of her bedroom, dust and paint falling silently onto the carpet. She even questioned herself. Annie wondered if maybe she had not been self involved in her eternal troubles, she would have seen the signs of her friends spiralling downturn. Those life's may have been spared. What if, what if?

She remained hidden in her sanctuary well into the evening, not flinching when the boys returned from the hospital. Her heavy gaze shifted to the carpet covered in a sprinkling of broken glass, the remains of the dresser mirror. Normally she would be waiting in the kitchen, all cheery and cheesy grins for George and Mitchell, welcoming them home with a hug and kiss. The recognisable squeak of George's voice floated upstairs; her lack of presence was clearly noticed. A tight pain shot through her chest, her heart strings twisting. In that moment she realised she could not tell George the truth about Mitchell. If she did, everything would fall apart, crumble and expose their fragile bubble they blissfully lived within. Of course George deserved the truth, she just couldn't face it at this exact moment and she hoped Nina would deter George from disturbing her.

Her prayers to be left in solitude were interrupted by Mitchell, sensing something wasn't quite right, sitting outside her door despite her one hearted request for him to leave her be. They remained this way, in silence, separated by a door, until George appeared, ushering Mitchell out the way. He was trying to lure her out, coaxing her with the excuse of Mitchell's shit tea making skills. She opened the door, only a crack so they would not see her room, hood up, dark circles under her eyes and a false smile to reassure George's concerned expression. She promised to be down in a minute, meeting Mitchell's eye from behind George, swallowing hard as a whole flood of emotions threaten to surface. Before the pair could respond, she closed the door quickly and crumbled to the floor with her legs curled against her chest. Warm tears spilled from her eyes and she could hear George jokingly ask Mitchell what he had done now. Mitchell lingered a little longer, sighing her name until eventually retiring to bed. She stayed in her room for the remainder of the night; know one checking on her, much to her preference.

Then was the time to feel devastated and heartbroken.

Now is the time to be angry.

And God is she angry. Annie leans her weight against the reception bar, shoulders hunched, gaze steadily focused on a bowl of mixed nuts over-flowing onto the counter. The air presses against her ghostly form, enwrapping her in a static blanket, anticipating a storm.

She can hear hushed voices upstairs – from Mitchell's room – low and angry and desperate. She can't hear clearly what her friends are saying, maybe she doesn't want to, and instead takes a deep, ragged breath, an unnecessary motion, to calm herself. It's not really working though; small waves of electric shocks are pulsing through her limbs, running down her spine, travelling to her fingertips. She should be worried, a ghost shouldn't feel like this, but she's just too damn angry to be concerned.

She just needs to keep her eyes focused on something, anything, and refuse the burn of tears. Always crying and always sad; after her return from purgatory, she swore old habits would not fall back into place.

So instead of listening, Annie concentrates on keeping the crackles of energy at bay. She knows, however, exactly what they are discussing; the repercussions of a tormented vampire, their friend and monster.

The voices upstairs rose and further upstairs – in the attic – she imagined Herrick too was listening intently, sat with a satisfied grin. She knew they couldn't trust him. Even if he couldn't remember his vampire life, he was still cruel and calculating, playing her friends against each other. She had spotted it easily, it seemed obvious now, and yet (she scoffed) she just couldn't spot the secret Mitchell was desperate to hide. But now she knew.

The sun is setting now, it's getting dark the street lights are dimly lit. Another breath and the lights flicker, it is quick action, almost undetectable, but enough for the housemates upstairs to notice, their shared silence piercing the quiet B&B.

She doesn't move as heavy footsteps reach the stairs, doesn't flinch as the lights are turned on, illuminating her back to them. Oddly she can sense the emotions of her friends, residues from the argument upstairs; it seeps through the pores of their skin. Nina is utterly disgusted and angry, George is betrayed and Mitchell….The worst part of it all, their worried. Worried how the poor, fragile little ghost will react. It's that look of pity that will eventually get her, make her snap or breakdown.

Mitchell calls her name, husky and low, she still keeps still, a storm building and building.

Rough fingers grasp the bare skin on her arms; she knows exactly how it should feel. It's familiar but she's angry. Her heart shouldn't skip an excited beat with his touch, it's wrong. Little volts charge to the surface of her skin and Mitchell releases his grip with a hiss, like an electric shock. He still stands close, breath tickling her neck.

She spins around, causing a surprised Mitchell to step back. She's stony faced, eyes slowly swirling from their usual brown to a deep violet. Nina says she deserves to know the truth; George tries to silence her but she refuses to, she's stern and knows they can't live like this anymore. There are monsters out there, and one of them is standing in front of her, under a costume of a charismatic man she loves.

Nina growls, _tell her Mitchell_. George is pale, worn and tired. And still _he_ keeps quiet.

Mitchell tries to touch her again, but she doesn't let him get close, she's not ready to understand. A sudden rush of energy throws him to the ground, all three look at her shocked. She barely registers her own shock at her growing strength. She feels powerful.

Tears threaten but she holds them back, not now. Her voice is unusually calm. _You should have told me Mitchell, I would have listened - I should have listened (she pauses remembering his previous almost admission). _

Slouched on the kitchen tiles, he doesn't say anything, doesn't avert his wide-eyed gaze. Almost as though he knew this day would arrive, just anticipating when.

Kitchen utensils rattle and clink around them in uncontrolled bursts. She's vaguely aware she's making a scene, but it takes all her might to control this struggling power threatening to erupt. Owen always said she was OTT when it came to her moods and right now it felt justified.

She covers her hands over her face in a bid to calm down, to stop his watching eyes pierce her heart. At some point she will forgive him, listen to him and once again accept who he his. It's in her nature to forgive. She doesn't phantom to know what George will do. There's abundant time to re-build those delicate bridges that bind their existence. But just now she has needs to be angry.

She vanishes without hesitation, just a soft 'pop' noise and she's gone from the kitchen, away from the B&B.

She doesn't know when she will return, she just needs to get away, clear her head, scream or something.

As it turns out, she returns that night, ready to face reality.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope this was ok, and I might be tempted to write more...**


	2. Chapter 2

**_I wrote this chapter months ago but it wasn't right at all and randomly went back to it this weekend - much better! _**

* * *

_You knew?_ Nina hissed, her stunned revelation shattering the silence in Mitchell's bedroom. Her accusing eyes turned on George, her anger burned through his skin, singed his bones.

George nodded his head stiffly. His inch-high private eye had finally uncovered the big secret. A catastrophic storm demanding exposure, shattering the fragile existence they so desperately created.

Mitchell sat on the edge of his bed, perfectly still. To his credit he kept silent, unable to look George in the eye but maintaining heated glares for Nina who didn't stand down, meeting them with her own. From the way Mitchell set his jaw, George knew he was holding his tongue. His shoulders were tensed, hands clamped firmly on his knees. It wouldn't be long before it all kicked off. Mitchell and Nina didn't get on at the best of times and now…it was a ticking bomb.

It was a matter of time really, a waiting game. But that didn't stop his heart hammering against his rib cage, palms hot and sweaty in a nervous flush.

_Unbelievable, _she laughed – a horrible, croaky scratch that sounded off. Her relentless pacing continued again, disgusted by the realization they were harbouring a murderer.

He wanted to say _something_, wanted her to understand but the words wouldn't form from his mouth dry. Rationalising _it_ made no sense, not to someone who only saw Mitchell as the hundred odd year old killing machine - not their friend or someone who had saved them.

So he kept quiet, waited as the walls crumbled. Nothing felt quite real.

And the brutal, honest truth - George knew. Of course he did, or at least suspected – otherwise it would be a blatant lie.

Albeit he wasn't one hundred percent certain – he didn't have verbal confirmation – but he had a good feeling. Well, not a good feeling – a horrible, twisting knot piercing his stomach, well and truly ignored.

Mitchell, his best friend, was responsible for the Box Tunnel 20 and George chose to overlook it, played innocent until the inevitable truth came to light.

Life had been a complete blur since leaving the CenSSA facility – his mind clouded by a dense fog left in Annie's wake.

He had seen the blood when he eventually found Mitchell – the fresh, deep red smears coating his face and clothes – fully intend on killing Kemp. It momentarily woke him from the numbness, an electric pulse of warning and he dismissed it. He couldn't think about it right then. He couldn't focus on anything else but Annie's screams, her goodbye tape, and her body dragging into a black pit. They had to leave - now.

He didn't think twice about Mitchell's insistence they leave Bristol immediately. George went with it, not fully registering if he really wanted to - probably for the best. Shakily Nina obliged, admitting she felt responsible for what happened. George squeezed her shoulder and whispered that was not the case. Plus he had to think about their safety – Kemp and Lucy were still at large. Maybe it was best to move elsewhere, a fresh start?

So he packed Mitchell's car with whatever they could grab at hand and left their pink house on Windsor Terrace for the last time. Mitchell refused to go into the house, choosing to slump in the backseat of the car, falling into silent thoughts and restlessness. A combined mixture of losing Annie and – looking back on it – the physical repercussions of what he had done.

George didn't relish the silence – it was tense and unbearable – but he kept his eyes on the road and swallowed the grief and fear. He had to plan their next move.

And George did what he did best. He squashed all his sadness and anger into a tight, locked box, threw away the key and pushed it to the back of his mind. He made a list – find somewhere to live; a job; keep Mitchell somewhere remote, out of the way for a while.

He found a grotty, damp cottage - somewhere secluded to set up their base; somewhere Annie would have turned her nose up at. He watched Nina obsess with finding Lucy, debunking her work with a flourish of colourful language, and Mitchell with the news – in particular, the Box Tunnel Massacre.

That was yet another warning light concerning Mitchell - he had changed. For three weeks solid he roamed aimlessly around like a zombie or read every article; watched all news reports; and listened vigilantly to the radio. It wasn't particularly subtle to say the least and it drove George mental.

Nina noticed the change – concluded it was more than losing Annie. He didn't admit his suspicions – he couldn't lose another friend. If only she knew how right she was.

As things became 'settled', the fog began to clear. Slowly, niggling thoughts wormed through, refusing to be ignored. Why it had been _too _easy to escape the facility. Why the buzz of staff had completely vanished – their blood smeared across Mitchell's lips.

He should have been shocked or surprised – but he wasn't and that scared him. He shamefully excused these deaths to anger and uncontrollable circumstance.

And then he remembered Mitchell in the kitchen back in Bristol and suddenly it was oh so worse. Drunk, George had said, but not the kind of drunk he knew. Coal black eyes taunted him maliciously, stared at him with a cruelty George had never seen before. He'd recently fed – George could smell it; metallic scratching his throat. This unrecognizable monster watched, abruptly warning them to be safe and George was scared for what would follow, so he ran, not caring for Annie's protests. They'd lost him.

He knew Mitchell had killed, slipped up – just hadn't realised the magnitude of his friends brutality - which in no means was excusable. The timing matched the box tunnel and it explained Mitchell's obsessive behaviour. Pieces of the puzzle merged together, suspicions grew and ultimately wilted into denial and acceptance.

That was Mitchell, his friend who occasionally had murdering tendencies. He refused to be Mitchell's confessor. He couldn't do it, couldn't hear those exact words of responsibility. Selfishly, he didn't want this truth hanging over him as they tried to play happy, while families of the people Mitchell slaughtered broke apart, lives in tatters.

He should have confronted him- there had been plenty of opportunities to do so - but he hid behind excuses and soon weeks blurred.

Too much time passed and now he was just as bad as Mitchell. For weeks they existed in a mixture of grief and numbness. It had become easy to brush aside the suspicions.

So he ignored the truth and next thing he knew, he was waiting futilely as Mitchell gallantly journeyed to the other side to rescue Annie. Mitchell had a purpose and George had no intention of interfering. His sole mission was to find her, bring her back and George couldn't help but think to what? To find her hero murdered innocent people in the name of betrayal? Eventually she would. He wanted Annie back, of course he did, but he feared the day Annie would turn around and really see what her friends were capable of.

And then Annie was back, all smiles and hugs, beaming with a radiance born from knowing the worst had happened to her. Even for the briefest period, Mitchell was content, relishing her warmth until his demons returned, beating him down.

Annie's return was another reason to keep quiet.

He was ashamed, knowing and saying nothing, watching Annie hunt down the killer. It was funny really; they all knew –him, Mitchell, Nina – but not Annie. They sheltered her, wanted to protect her from the evils that lurked outside and in their presence. They never gave her a chance - it was unfair, selfish, she deserved the truth but no one was willing to break her heart or her belief in human decency.

He prayed she wouldn't grow cold and grow to resent him. Nina's anger he could deal with, rebuild from, but not Annie's utter betrayal. Mitchell had sworn to never hurt her, and now they had both failed that promise.

However confronting Mitchell, actually verbally saying it would mean the end. He could be angry, disown him, but too much time had passed - now he was just as guilty as Mitchell.

It was so very George. Ultimately, he was scared he would finally lose Mitchell, finally have to wash his hands from his friend and put his foot down for his and Nina's future.

George snapped from his dream-like trance when Mitchell finally spoke, voice hushed and strained, knowing who may be listening through worn floorboards.

_How did you find out? _His question was directed at Nina. George watched from the sidelines – this whole conversation seemed to be directed at Nina.

Nina waited a beat. _Your little collection, you know- the clippings. Is that what you do with all your victims? Keep souvenirs? He showed me where you…_

Mitchell cut her off immediately, worriedly. _Who?_

Nina fidgeted with her hair, almost looking nervous but regained her stand. _The shitting tooth fairy – Herrick – who do you think._

Mitchell clapped his hands and chortled, standing up to face Nina. _Well, that's just fantastic. Jesus, do you have any idea what you've fucking done? _

Nina blinked, fuming. _Me?_

Mitchell stepped closer, intimidating. _Yeah. You. Who else knows Nina?_

George pushed his shoulders between the pair, wedging some needed distance to appease the tension. The lights flickered subtly in the background.

_Are you going to kill them all? Take care of the problem? That's what you do isn't it – make it disappear – wash the blood from your hands and join us for tea? _She was riling him up and George shot her a pleading look which she ignored.

The lights flickered again. Something was off. There was a barely noticeable change in the air, but George noticed it – his enhanced senses picking up the heaviness. He was sure Mitchell did too.

_I need to see Annie, _muttered Mitchell, visibly agitated and starting for the door. Nina's words stopped him short.

_Annie knows. I told her. _For once she actually sounded guilty, thinking she had crossed a line, but she stood her ground and composed herself. _She deserved the truth. You had months to tell her – both of you. _She threw George an icy glare.

Mitchell cradled his face in his hands and shook his head, turning from the door. _You had no right…_

_Oh I have every right, _she spat. _I'm involved in this…sick fantasy whether you like it or not. You got away with this Scott-free; the pretty girl on your arm; bit of a shitty job though but what does that matter – your bloody flying!_

Mitchell crossed his arms across his chest and eyed her up and down. _Your loving this aren't you. But you can't get me Nina, you're gonna fail…_

As a confused expression passed over Nina's features, the flickering lights grew more pronounced. The old house creaked and groaned. The electrics crackled and sparked.

Mitchell shared a worried look with George and walked out of the bedroom.

The atmosphere of the B&B was becoming intolerable and George was helpless to follow Mitchell – who seemed to know exactly where Annie was – with Nina close behind.

George could feel it. It was finally happening.

He had treated this as just another 'incident' one could casually sweep under the radar as a slip up and start again tomorrow.

However this wasn't a blip, this was a huge blip. And why? Because Mitchell had been betrayed? Was that a licence to kill?

He refused to reason anymore, couldn't make excuses for him, not now.

He feared one day he would lose Mitchell for good. One day he would have to stand up and walk away, or worse.

It looked like tomorrow would be that day.


	3. Chapter 3 Part 1

_Big thanks to all the folks who reviewed! It really makes my day! Good to know others can make sense of my ramblings! Something that Ruby Rosetta Red pointed out & I just want to clarify that my italics mean speaking not thoughts. Just trying something different for this fic. _

* * *

George woke with a start, heart pounding as he released a raspy breath and closed his eyes tightly against the invading light.

He felt truly awful - his head fuzzy and groggy. What the hell just happened? Where was he?

He blinked once, and again, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brash flood of light, finally staring up to a high ceiling.

He was lying on a floor. Rough, cold tiles scraped his palms and pressed against his back. Any background noise was deafened by a ringing rattling his eardrums. He could vaguely hear voices – possibly calling for him – but he was unsure who or where they originated from.

As the effects of what felt like an exceptionally bad hangover wore off, George sat up slowly, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ease his throbbing head. He waited for the light-headedness to pass before shakily standing to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest against the action.

He furrowed his forehead as the surroundings and voices became gradually clearer – the fogginess draining from his system as fear and adrenaline took over.

Had he been drugged? Knocked unconscious? He couldn't remember. He fought back the panic and tried to remember where he was last.

He remembered Annie vanishing to God knows where…the police…Nina on the kitchen floor…blood…so much blood pooling around her….everywhere…the hospital…then blackness.

_George? _It was Mitchell, his Irish twang rusty with worry. He was standing a couple feet away, watching his friend with growing concern.

George raised his hand effectively silencing Mitchell. Oh God, he knew where he was. He was back in that bloody cage – with Mitchell. What the hell was this?

A low chuckle echoed outside the cage and George twisted, pin-pointing its origin.

Herrick emerged from the shadows – not the man who cowered in the attic, but the Herrick brimming with calculated cruelty.

_Finally! Sleeping beauty has joined the party. Now the fun can begin. _Herrick smiled at George, the smile of a malicious predator preparing for the kill. He walked around the perimeter, clearly enjoying the turn of events. _Shall we begin? _

George kept his gaze to the floor as Herrick revealed revelation after revelation about Mitchell – all those terrible things he kept hidden. All those things George could have – should have – stopped his best friend from doing.

Herrick was setting up the perfect stage for a stand off. The final act. And George couldn't help but think it was working. He was finally forced to re-evaluate what his friendship meant. He couldn't ignore it anymore. Not now. Not as Nina lay hospitalized in a critical condition – her blood still fresh and wet on his shirt. Things had been fine – not _fine _– but ok in Bristol and now this?

When did everything get this bad? How did their life's end up at this turning point?

George clenched his fingers into fists, all his anger, all his revulsion threatening to burst to the surface. He could feel the wolf side egging him on, granting him permission.

It was all becoming too much.

And that's when he saw her – a swirl of grey catching the attention of his peripheral vision causing both men to look up in surprise.

Her presence was momentarily calming, until George really looked at her.

Now he was scared.

* * *

_Ooh very short chapter! _


	4. Chapter 3 Part 2

**_My new motto is finish what you start. So I'm going to bloody well finish this! Next chapter will be the last. _**

* * *

Whatever Herrick had planned would remain a mystery as all eyes turned to the ghost in grey and Herrick's grin wavered into an unsettled sneer.

The air crackled as Annie's form morphed and faded in and out of sight until finally grounding in place. She stood very still, eyes watching only Herrick. The temperature dropped noticeably and George shivered, a breeze prickling his skin.

Annie looked different, fragmented around the edges, and more ghostly than George had ever seen her. In fact, he'd only seen her like this once – when she saved them from Kemp only months before.

Everything about her felt wrong and this chilled George to the very core of his being.

She circled Herrick, watched him with hard, unblinking eyes. Now she looked truly dead, no longer radiating that natural joy George longed for.

George wanted to shout something, anything, but he felt helpless and scared, his body frozen in place.

He could hear Mitchell begging her to leave, pleading, but she wasn't listening – didn't even offer a glance.

They were watching from afar as Herrick laughed with delight, a sound which stopped Annie from her pacing.

A cruel smile curled her lips, unnatural on her features, and slowly her hand pushed forward, straight into Herrick's chest, passing through skin, muscle and bone as though made of water.

Herrick choked in surprise and twitched in pain, his laugh quickly silenced. _Do you feel that?_ Her voice low as she squeezed her hand, tightening her palm around the heart muscle, using enough pressure to make an impact but still keep him conscious.

_Is that the best you can do?_ Herrick gurgled, never removing his eyes from the violet ones piercing his with such resolution.

George remained frozen in place, unable to stop the scene playing before him. He jumped as Mitchell hit the cage wall, begging Annie to stop, that this wasn't her. It was a fruitless bid and still she paid no attention to his cries.

_No, but it's a start. _Behind Herrick a door appeared – wet, rusting steel; black with no handle. Slowly the door swung open with a screech, revealing an endless pitch black abyss. The temperature dropped further and a low hum bubbled from the darkness gradually growing louder and louder until screams bled out into the room – horrible cries of pain and anger. The noise was consuming, unpleasant and George staggered back, palms clammy and warm.

Her voice was commanding, rising above the screams. _They've waited a long time. You don't get to escape this. _ The darkness expanded, black vines weaved around Herrick's limbs and torso, combining with the fabric of his clothes.

Now Herrick looked fearful – the façade crumbling as his usual clam wavered slightly and yet his eyes sparkled with curiosity. _I'm impressed – I didn't think you had it in you. I underestimated you. _For the final time, his eyes turned coal black and the vampire smiled, ready for an end.

_You did. _And without a second thought Annie pushed Herrick through the door - the screams reaching a climax and silencing when the looming darkness swallowed Herrick's contorted body.

George locked his gaze on the black nothingness, tired and cold. His heavy breaths echoed the room and he could hear the frantic beat of his pounding heart. It was the door wasn't it? He could feel it – invisible arms drawing energy from him, somehow seeking out the only source of life in the vicinity.

He wanted it to stop. And then the black morphed to grey and white and George realised Annie was standing in his view, blocking his curious and exhausted eyes.

She gripped the open door frame and finally turned to face her friends – violet eyes dissolving back to their normal colour.

George would have been relieved to see their Annie again, not the poltergeist, but he could see it in her eyes – what she planned to do – and his voice finally returned _no, no, no._

Beside him, Mitchell stopped hitting the cage walls, fingers now clasping the wire meshing. _Annie, please, don't. _

Finally she faced Mitchell, lips parting wanting to say something, but nothing comes out. No words are spoken – they don't need words. Instead they watch one another with an intensity that makes George uncomfortable, fully aware he's intruding on a private moment. He shifts his gaze from the couple and waits for their trance to break.

When Annie does speak, her voice is directed on him and suddenly looks up.

_I have to do this. _She pauses and her face crumbling, exposing the Annie he knows. _Nina's going to be ok George. She's a fighter. _He asks her about the baby and solemnly she shakes her head, _it's too early to know yet. I'm sorry. _Those two words expressed everything he needed to hear – his loss and her goodbye.

She smiles sadly and then she's gone, through the door and George is crying – for the baby; for Nina; for Annie.

He felt numb, his entire being was shattered – nothing felt quite real. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

That's when he spots it through teary eyes. A police issued gun perfectly positioned in the corner of the cage. Part of Herrick's master plan George guessed. Clumsily he picks the gun up and tests the weight against his palm, tracing his finger against the metal. It's cold, heavy and he realises he's never held a gun before. Everything he knows about guns is from films and Midsummer Murder. The safety was off.

George jumps – a loud banging interrupting his dreamlike daze. He watches Mitchell – completely oblivious to the gun – attempt repeatedly to kick the cage door open, to no avail, moving to the hinges instead, swearing between breaths. He stops, leaning his hand against the wall, head down and George can tell he's crying.

There's a recognizable click and Mitchell freezes, turning round. His face soaked with fresh tears and droplets of blood on his lip where George had previously hit him.

George aims the gun at Mitchell's chest, hand shaky but holding strong. He isn't even sure if a bullet could kill a vampire and it wasn't the time to update his supernatural knowledge.

Mitchell appears momentarily shocked and runs gloved hands over his face to remove drying tears. When his hands drop casually to his side, he reveals an expression that's cold and ugly.

He's seen _that_ look before. George is fully aware of what Mitchell is doing – or trying to do. Trying to intimidate, anger him, scare him by being the damned creature he hated. Mitchell was going to push his buttons – make George pull the trigger. He actually had the audacity to be his alter ego.

Mitchell laughed and stepped forward, testing George's courage. His eyes darkened and voice lowered. _You're hands shaking George. What are you going to do? Are you going to shoot me? Go on. All those things I've done and more will follow if you don't. Mind you, I don't think you have the balls for that. Never did. You're a coward. Come on, you filthy dog._

George swallowed hard. _Don't call me that. _

This was Mitchell and everything he touched became destructive. He wasn't sure he could make any excuses for him anymore. It was…tiring.

Mitchell's shoulders sagged and he pleaded desperately, no longer playing a monster, but a broken man. _Do it. Please, George, I can't do it anymore. End it and you'll finally be free. Let me go. _He took another step closer so the tip of the gun now pressed against his sternum.

His friend was crumbling before him and it was heartbreaking. George found his finger tightening down on the trigger.

No. This wasn't how it should end, George wasn't like them.

He twisted his arm and pointed the gun to the padlock on the cage door and pulled the trigger. To his surprise nothing happened. He tried again and again to no effect. The gun was empty – he scoffs – realising Herrick had played them all along; part of his sick, twisted game.

He threw the gun to the ground. Now it was his turn to scream and kick the bloody door in frustration and anger. Thankfully Mitchell let him be – silently slumping to a sitting position on the floor.

Once his energy was spent, George found no comfort in the silence, keeping his distance from Mitchell as he mulled over the passing events. He'd lost one best friend and the other one wanted to die – it wasn't looking to great.

He didn't know how much time passed by when he heard shuffling from outside and Tom suddenly appeared, running up to the cage. After several attempts, Tom unlocked the door, eyeing Mitchell suspiciously. He didn't say much, something was playing on his mind, something he tried to hide.

George only nodded, not about to ask what was wrong, and pushed past Tom. He had to get away from here, from Mitchell. He had to see Nina.

Tom tilted his head in Mitchell's direction. _What about him?_

Now outside the cage, George stopped, keeping his back to Mitchell. He couldn't look at him. He was done. _Don't come back to the house Mitchell. I can't take responsibility for you anymore. _

Without turning back, he walked away.

Tom looked down at Mitchell before joining George, leaving Mitchell alone on the cold ground.


End file.
